Sugar
by visceraEffect
Summary: He was sweet, sweeter than anything else in the world. But I opened my hands a little, and he spilled out until there was no trace of him left with me.


A/N: I swear I don't know what happened. D8 I was listening to a super upbeat happy song, then this.

I don't own Elsword. Enjoy my really shit grammar and w/e emotion I tried to put in here lol

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I know it'll only last for a night. It's like a timed magic spell; it'll just disappear and one day, I won't even remember it. You'll find another love after this moment, but whether I'll find love after is my own question.

Your red eyes flash and it makes my heart jump in my chest. Your rough touch makes my cheeks flush and the feeling of your lips against my ear turns me on so much. You taste of sugar and pepper, sweet and spicy, fireworks in my mouth.

The fire kindling in my gut roars, and my hands find themselves buried deeply in your red hair. The strands are as soft as I remember them. The patch of black in your hair is a reminder of the time you saved me from Berthe. Do you still think of me as a little magician that needs to be saved, or as a woman that my body really is? In our kiss, I smile, but the sting of tears threatens to ruin the moment. The bitter taste of regret rises with the taste of you permeating my tongue. I loop my legs around your lithe figure as you hastily undo my clothes.

This will be over soon, and the thought constantly flashes through my mind. I want to keep this close to my heart, forever, and yet the tears can't stop rolling down my face. You wipe them away with your warm, chapped lips, scraping my cheek. It hurts but I can't make a sound.

Your hands grab mine and the passion is lost for a moment. It almost seems like you love me, the way you kiss away my tears, the way you whisper sweet nothings in my ear, the desperate grip of your hands. But it's a lie, isn't it? Your eyes reflect pity and my heart feels like its been stabbed and stomped on.

In the end, it doesn't matter to me. I stretch out to kiss you again, biting your lip harshly. I know you like this kind of aggressiveness. It runs in your blood after Cornwell chose you as its master. You growl and kiss back, forceful, so _you_. I want this to last in my memory as my first love's ravage of my innocence.

But it's well known that you aren't my first love and this isn't my innocence being taken.

It makes more hot tears roll down my cheeks as your hands slip against me. It makes the pain and the pleasure lace together in an inseparable net of cluttered emotions. My hands run down your toned body, years of fighting turning a thirteen-year old body into one of a sex god.

The sounds of my own moaning seem alien to my ears, but your sizzling touches feel right. What feels right is you guiding me into unity. What feels right is you being by my side, whether as fighting partners or as lover. But you have to leave. My mind curses and my body convulses, waves of pleasure paralyzing my senses.

I don't want to think of it.

You bite into my neck, a mark that I hope will stay forever. I can feel the rush of blood and the thumping of my own heart, wild and passionate. My fingers dig into your back, hopefully leaving open cuts. I want you to bleed for the pain you have caused me. I want to see you cry in the same way that I did.

But your eyes are simply bright with lust and not bright with tears or love. It's quite simple and even I know it well, like the back of my hand. You used me, and I let you use me.

I get a false sense of happiness and you get your pleasure. Some disapprove of this illusion of love. Some preach it as a way of living. I don't know how I feel about this. But if I were honest, I'd rather see you smile with love towards someone else and look at me the same way as a year ago, than feel you in me. It would just hurt more, in the end.

You pull at my hair, hours of curling undone in a couple of minutes. I won't be seeing anyone for the next few days, so it doesn't matter very much. The stinging pain in my scalp is nothing compared to the dull ache in my chest. Heaving with heavy breaths, my last stand is here aas I let go of my own explosion.

You've already come undone, breathing hard with sweat dripping off your perfect, tanned flesh. It burns when it lands on my own skin. Your touches burn and when you bury your head in my chest from tiredness, I hope you can hear the pain in my heart. I hope you can feel that exact pain in your own chest. But there are reasons why they're only hopes.

They'll never be true.

"This is it, huh?" I gasp out. My voice echoes and there isn't a reply, until you breathe words against my collarbone, raising your body from mine.

Your voice is low and raspy, manly and deep. You remind me of Raven, a little. I won't be your Rena, though. I'll never find someone that I can feel so passionately about. I'll stay in this room, surrounded by this past and engulfed in memories of you.

"Fuck you." It escapes my mouth instinctively and the tears break through again.

I close my eyes. I don't want to see your face and the expression on it. It was my choice to choose this path, and you simply went with it. Your weight shifts and I feel empty and cold. I used to be a strict feminist, but I can't help but think that without you, I can't be complete.

Your reply sounds distant and muffled. "Already did." The cockiness in your voice makes me grin weakly. I hear the crack in your tough words though… I'm so used to you. I try to open my eyes and envision a life without you. Almost impossible.

When I do see your face, scarred by shadows from the moon, it almost looks pained.

It almost looks like you care.

You drop against the bed again, resting your head against my stomach, slowing your breaths in a way I taught you a long time ago. Lazily, your hand raises, but drops before you can straighten it completely. For some reason, that motion reminds me of myself: reaching for something before giving up.

My fingers run through your hair. I've always loved doing it secretly. Perhaps you've already figured it out because you let me. A strand of hair falls out and lays innocently on the white swath of blankets. I close my eyes again, suppressing the urge to choke you.

I don't want to let you go. I don't want to see you leave me and go on with your life. I don't want anyone else to have you, even though I've never had you.

Unrequited love is so bitter.

Your breaths are even and still. You can sleep in these conditions, but then again, there's nothing you have to worry about. I grip your hair tightly for a second before releasing, but you barely stir, instead, wrinkling your nose and twitching before resuming your slumbering position.

You'll be gone if I fall asleep. You'll disappear from the small world I call my memories as time goes on. The perfect picture of your face will be marred with the passage of time. Your sweet gestures and sweet smiles will dull into black-and-white photos of a lost age. Time is moving too fast and I'm out of breath, left behind by a changing world.

My eyelids feel so heavy, and your warmth doesn't help.

It won't hurt if I rest my eyes….

xxx

The morning is cold and I sit, surrounded by dirty blankets that smell of sex and you. I stink of your essence, and yet I can't find the heart in me to wash you and your touches from my skin. I daintily pick up the teacup on the nightstand. Ordered by you, most likely.

Earl Grey, the scent of it assaults my nostrils.

Red-brown liquid, shimmering with my own tired, rumpled face, quivers in the cup. A white cup with a red design. The sting of tears already resurfaces. I don't want to see myself in this state, so I down the tea in a lengthy gulp.

It's bitter and cold. There's no more sugar, anyways.


End file.
